My BFF Jay and I have this running joke about our juvenilia. It's really over the top. So since today is the last day of class, and my tradition is to have everyone read something, I have decided to share some of my juvenilia with the intro to poetry writing crew.
I'm sure they will be shocked that I consider something I wrote at 24 to be juvenilia, because golly, I can't be a year over 25, right? Seriously though, I wanted to read something old. It's fun going through past files and finding stuff that could actually hang with my poems today.
Would anyone else care to join the "post some of your juvenilia Thursday" festivities?
This is a silly, odd little poem that I'm not reading, but that I thought would be nice to post on the blog. To all my fellow profs, bon courage during this hideous time of the semester.
CLAIR DE LUNE
(by a much younger Mary Biddinger)
slacked in. Behind
two cooks in a knife
fight, and us lurching.
my hands numb
on a coal box, said
you would eat all
ten of my fingers
if they were tempura.
Inside, fish strung
by the gills, guts
on the burners.
What a taste
in the smog rain,
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